For Her
by Donny's Boy
Summary: Over breakfast, Karai ponders the mysteries of love. Why? Because even bad guys need lovin'. Just a fluffy little KaraiChaplin oneshot here, nothing deep. 2003 cartoon universe.


"For Her"

By Donny's Boy

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Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the plot relating to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I am making no money from this story. I mean no harm.

Warnings: None that I can think of. Karai shoves Chaplin around a little, but we all know he totally likes it.

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To her surprise, Karai awoke to an empty bed. She glanced out the window of her well-appointed penthouse and, seeing that the sky was still pitch-black, frowned thoughtfully. Then she sighed in genial exasperation. Sitting up, she grabbed the katana that rested just a hair's length away from the bedside and padded silently out to the hallway.

She didn't bother with trifles. It wasn't in her nature. So she bypassed the living room, the kitchen, the dojo, and instead headed immediately for the personal office.

And, unsurprisingly, there he sat at the computer desk. Right where she'd left him before going to bed last night. Looking disheveled and exhausted and half-crazed, all while wearing more than a hint of a five o'clock shadow.

Karai paused in the doorway to watch him. Unaware of her presence, he kept on typing away at his keyboard, leaning forward from time to time to squint at the computer screen. Finally she'd had enough, and she loudly cleared her throat.

"Chaplin."

"Gah!" Startled, he whirled around and, in the process, managed to tip over the desk chair. He fell to the floor with a dull thud. Pulling himself up, Chaplin shot her a sheepish grin. "Oh, Karai! It's you. Good morning."

"Yes, it _is_ morning, isn't it?" she replied dryly, glancing out the office windows before turning back to fix him with a glare. "Did you get any sleep at all, Chaplin?"

He bit his lip. Without fail he did that right before telling her some ridiculous, bald-faced lie. "Karai. My love. Of course I did," he told her, grinning in what he surely hoped was a beguiling manner.

Fighting back the strong urge to roll her eyes, Karai walked over to the computer. "What are you working on, anyways?"

"A new neurotoxin for the remote-control shuriken."

"That's what kept you up all night? Chaplin, this silly competition with Agent Bishop is getting entirely out of hand."

"But I can beat him, Karai! I know I can." Stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest, he muttered, "Stupid know-it-all thinks he's the only one who can cook up fast-acting poisons? Ha! I'll show him …"

Karai recognized this as a possible and dangerous sign of obsession, and if anyone knew about dangerous obsessions, it was her. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "Chaplin, I do not think Bishop is even aware that this so-called 'rivalry' exists."

Chaplin glared daggers at her.

Finally she gave in to the eye-rolling urge. Honestly, he could be so childish sometimes. Turning smartly on her heel, she left the office and headed towards the kitchen. As she left, she called out loudly, in a purposefully casual tone, "I'm going to make coffee."

Karai allowed herself a small chuckle as she heard him scrabble to catch up. Food might indeed be the way to a normal man's heart, as the saying went, but the way to an overextended scientist's heart was most certainly caffeine.

She herself was not fond of coffee, preferring tea, but ever since Chaplin had moved in she had taken it upon herself to learn how to correctly brew the potent beverage. Likewise she had chosen to stock her lavish kitchen—which gleamed from floor to ceiling with long granite counter-tops and stainless steel appliances—with the appropriate accoutrements: gourmet coffee beans, top of the line grinder, specialty coffee maker imported from Italy. Indeed, though she didn't like to brag, Karai now considered herself quite the accomplished coffee brewer.

As she went about her business of making coffee, she felt Chaplin slip by her to reach the refrigerator. A moment later she heard him rustling around for food. "Would you like some eggs for breakfast, love?"

She fought back a smile. He was always trying to take care of her—cooking, cleaning, building extravagant weaponry. From just about any other man she would hate the constant attentiveness. But from her mad scientist, it was … sweet. Yes, sweet was a good word for it. Sweet, loving, and perhaps even endearing.

"No, thank you, Chaplin. Tea shall suffice."

"But breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he protested.

She turned to face him, arching one eyebrow.

He flinched. "Well, it's not _that_ important." After coughing nervously, he abruptly changed the subject: "So what's on your schedule today?"

"I have a board meeting at ten." Karai put a kettle on to boil and paused to mentally review the day's obligations. "After lunch I will be discussing the Foot's Chinatown operations with my second-in-command. Then I'm having a business dinner with the vice president of Globo Incorporated about a possible merger."

"Ah."

The hurt tone in his voice was instantly recognizable, and Karai sighed. She knew exactly what he was upset about, too. It was an old fight, one that they'd had many, many times. Frankly, she was growing quite tired of it.

"It is purely a business dinner," she explained patiently, watching him as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "That is why you were not invited."

Nodding thoughtfully, he said, "I understand, Karai. I do. I know I'm not the typical sort of … uh, _consort_ … for a woman of your stature, and I understand that you'd be ashamed to—"

The rest of his words were forgotten, however, as Karai slammed him into the nearest convenient wall. She brought her face very close to his and glared at him through narrowed eyes. "If I ever hear you say anything that stupid again," she hissed, "I will personally disembowel you."

She let go, and he slumped heavily against the wall. Then, after regaining his bearings, he blinked up at her, stunned and silent.

She continued in a soft, furious tone, "How dare you question my feelings? Everything I do is for you and your protection, you foolish man!" She turned away from him.

"Karai…"

"I hide our relationship because I have enemies, Chaplin! Enemies who would gladly hurt those I love, if they were to become aware."

"Karai—"

"Likewise, I call you by your surname because I do not want to grow too accustomed to your personal name. I do not want to risk accidentally calling you by it in public." She frowned darkly, knowing well how much such a seemingly little slip could reveal. "To do so would imply … excessive familiarity."

"Karai, I'm _sorry_."

Scowling at the apology, she replied, "Not half as sorry as you will be when—"

He cut her off with a kiss, soft but persistent. The very first time he'd kissed her, she had been surprised at how soft his lips were. Her previous lovers had all been of ninja lineage, and softness was not a part of their ways or one of their virtues. But Chaplin wasn't ninja. And while his lips were soft, his goatee proved rough and scratchy. When he'd first started growing it, she had been irritated at the facial hair. Now, though she still complained form time to time, she secretly enjoyed the goatee.

When Chaplin finally pulled away, he smiled at her. "I love you too."

She glowered half-heartedly even as she relented and ran an affectionate hand through his exotic red hair. He was impossible, sometimes, but still he managed to prove his worth often enough to be kept around. Then, smiling a bit, she gave him a playful shove. "Go take a shower," she commanded, "and change your clothes. Your odor is quite strong."

He chuckled and bowed. "Yes, Mistress."

Grabbing his coffee cup from the counter, he drained it in one long swallow. Then he wandered off towards the bathroom, disrobing along the way. Karai watched him leave and winced involuntarily when he took off his shirt. The pale, smooth expanse of Chaplin's back was disfigured by a long, pink, jagged scar. The permanent reminder of a katana. A katana that had been meant for her … but taken by him.

She took the kettle off the stove's burner and poured herself a cup of tea. Thoughtfully she sipped.

Her second-in-command did not approve of Chaplin. She wasn't sure who else among the Foot even knew, but of those that did know, she was sure they shared her second's opinion. She didn't blame them. Chaplain was right. He wasn't a proper companion for a ninja. Not in the least. He was a scientist, untrained in martial arts, not even Japanese. But it was exactly his difference that made her love him.

Over the years, the Foot's legions had fought for many reasons—for honor, for vengeance, for control. But Chaplin had only ever fought for one thing. For one person.

For her.


End file.
